Rejecting Illusions of Reality

He sits with a head full
of warring definings
of reality, of success,
of value - wonders
what did it get him -
all those years
of the slow, knowing,
willing, suicide? What
did it get him?

Those years of earning frowns
from aunts and Mothers
and grand Mothers while hiding
in dark corners rebuilding
crashed
servers on holidays? What
did he accomplish,
freshly surgered, bound together
with 100 staples, camped
on borrowed beds restoring
hacked databases no longer
wanted, needed - what
purpose?

Five years gone now,
he was there
living
your dream
leaving
the body of a woman - dying
on a bed just to switch securities
for folks never met, never
caring - he for them, them
for he.

What
purpose did it serve
in the end? Sitting returned
to where he was holding
nothing
more now than then, holding
exactly nothing.

He questions the what
and the why
of his self; what
did all those things
serve
he wonders
in polite quiet as you blather
on about the definition
of success, your defining
of reality - what for?

And if this is success,
if success means killing
who you be
for who they say
you ought be, if success
is never being
where he should for where
you think he should, if the price
of success is trading his vision
of reality for your reality of
reality -
he rejects it.

He rejects it
as completely as
Kerouac's sevenfold rejection.
He sits with a head full
of those warring definings
of reality, of success, of
value and chooses his. He rejects
yours asking only
that you choose yours -
not
the one
they gave you.

_{(Friday, March 04, 2011 @ 10:19)}